Want to know what life is like with epilepsy?

It's trying to remember which medicine to take at what time and how much of each of the anti-seizure medicines to give now... the amounts are constantly changing.

It means making sure that both seizure monitors are on and connected every night... then getting up again to make sure they are still connected... then getting up again...

It's being woken up by seizure alarms at 3:00am, grabbing emergency medicine, ready to inject it.

It's watching your child shake out of control and counting down the 4 minutes before you inject the first emergency medicine.

It's desperately trying to get a hold of a doctor to let them know that your child had another seizure and trying to figure out what to do next.

It's deciding on which of the side effects will be the easiest on your child knowing that if you decide on the wrong medicine, more seizures will come.

It's sitting in his bedroom, just like right now, listening for a seizure to happen when there are so many other things that you need to do.

It's trying to explain to your child that they aren't sick when they take so much medicine, but not knowing how to say they aren't going to get better.

It's the strange looks that people give when your child doesn't speak well due to epilepsy and damaging seizures.

It's watching your child try to be friends with other kids and then seeing your child's disappointment when the other child walks away because you can't speak well. It's the pain of what you just saw and wishing your child didn't feel alone and had a friend who could understand.
 
It’s the small victories though that keep you going.  It’s the smile in the morning and the funny things they do that make you keep trying.  It’s hearing your child say something a little better that keeps you encouraged.  It’s the little steps forward after taking so many steps backwards that give you a little hope.  It’s knowing that Jesus created him just the way he is and just for us to love and accepting him just the way he is.

When we were told that most kids that are adopted have medical problems that were unknown, we had no idea that the medical problems would be so hard to figure out.  We have spent numerous hours at the hospital and doctors appointments, given so many different types of medicines to Bohao (so far, none are working) and cried so many tears not knowing what we were going to do (and still do today).  Has Bohao grown so much and improved by leaps and bounds?  Yes!  Would his epilepsy ever been diagnosed if he had stayed in the orphanage?  Maybe not.  Are his doctors doing everything they can to figure out what to do for his type of epilepsy.  Absolutely!

But I can't help but wonder what happens to other kids in undeveloped countries who go through medical situations like this, but have no doctor available or maybe lack to finances to afford the testing or medicine needed.  Suffering with no hope of it ending.

In Cambodia (especially where we work) it's not uncommon for "doctors" to recommend treatment that is unnecessary in order to make more money.  Most villagers don't have the money to pay for their basic needs, much less expensive (and unnecessary) medical testing/procedures.  Most just don't go to the doctor.  Others go in to debt and pay loans for years due to loan sharks.

Currently, we have a doctor (Sovan) on staff at Cambodia Village Outreach who works with villagers every week seeing between 75-100 people a week.  He has helped so many people at no charge.  He has not only sacrificed his time, but he has also sacrificed his own salary, knowing that he could be better paid somewhere else.  But every week they come.  Villagers line up waiting for their turn.  Word has now spread to other villages that there is a doctor who has good medicine (not bad or fake medicine) that helps.  People are desperate.  Sometimes it's hard for them to believe that he doesn't charge anything.  And even though the work is hard, it's very hot and he doesn't have a proper clinic (or even a room), Sovan continues to work tirelessly to help these people who truly need help. 

But there are still so many more people, not just in Cambodia, but all over the world, who are in the same situation needing help.  They need someone to care and help.  It breaks my heart to know that there are so many people who are hurting with no hope for the future.  

We are so thankful that Bohao does have doctors who are truly looking out for him and doing all that they can to help him and our prayer is that one day, he will no longer struggle with epilepsy and that he will be able to fully develop in the person that God has called him to be.

"I can't do this.  I don't know how to take care of him.  The orphanage can take better care of him than me."  It wasn't the moment I imagined it to be.  It wasn't like how (what seemed like) how everyone described it.  In fact, it was hard and scary.  But how could a little (and I mean size 3T little) 6 year old scare me so much.  I looked at him and felt so distant.  Where was the automatic "love" that so many people talked about when they met their adopted child for the first time?  

Adopting has been one of the hardest things I have ever done.  And I'm not talking about the paperwork, although, that was hard, but doable.  It has changed me and sharpened me in areas that I would have rather left untouched.  Adopting has been a huge adjustment in my life.  And yes, I have forgotten many times that I had a child, especially in the beginning.  (I know, go ahead and laugh).  But the adoption process didn't just start with paperwork, choosing a child, more paperwork and more paperwork and then finally meeting our son.  It started with mourning the fact that I am not able to have children (which I'm sure I'll share about later).  We had been waiting for so long to finally have a child (8 1/2 years) and finally the moment had come. 

The day we met Bohao and he became part of our family was a day full of so many emotions.  We, along with 2 other families, had gone to the Social Welfare office to pick up our newly adopted children.  Before meeting our children, Bohao actually walked in the room twice, one to arrive and once to go to the little boys room.  I cried.... I mean I ugly cried.  I was scared, I was excited and I was nervous.  So much had led up to this moment.  Then, out he came in his little blue Snoopy coat and his blue backpack with soy milk and crackers and his pink and yellow shoes.  I kept waiting for the moment that I felt love for him, but it didn't happen.  Guilt.  I had already failed.  We walked over to talk with the director and ask her some questions.  Bohao happily checked out the toys we had for him and ate the snacks we had purchased in Cambodia.  But then it was time to go.  The moment went so fast and he was ours.  There was no turning back.  He was so small, much smaller than I imagined.  He was so cute... and still is.  I had no idea what to do.  I was overwhelmed and scared.  I can't imagine how scared he was when he first came with us.  He didn't really speak and only said a few words too us.  We knew that he was speech delayed, but we didn't realize the extent of delay he had.  We thought he would be more like a 5 year old, but the truth is, he was more like a 2 or 3 year old, something I didn't want to admit at all.  He touched everything.... and I mean EVERYTHING!  And even though we were scared and felt like we didn't know what to do, when Bohao laughed, he began slowly working his way in to our hearts.  

It's been a year now and looking back at our pictures, I see smiling faces.  But the truth was, I was scared.  We both were.  And even though we have all been through a lot in this past year, I wouldn't give him back for anything.  I can truly say that I love him and he loves us.  He loves his family (on both sides of the world).  And although this has been one of the toughest years of our lives, I know he is happy and we are too.